


Exquisite Red

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Series: Exquisite Red [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark, Jealous Sam Winchester, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a darkness in Sam, but it's a darkness reflected in Dean.<br/>Maybe a monster is still a monster even if you love it because you're a monster, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exquisite Red

A fly crawls erratically, shiny black over rotted flesh. There’s a gash in the cheek that houses stark white maggots and darker earthworms. Sam watches them move until Dean pulls him back and away, pushing him toward the car.

 

“Jesus Sam. Go on, you don’t need to be lookin’ at that.”

 

Dad almost looks like he wants to protest. He’s never been a fan of Dean ‘coddling’ Sam, but even his face seems a little queasy at the stench and sight of the decomposing corpse. Sam doesn’t quite make it as far as the car, but he stands back far enough to satisfy Dean’s protective side. Dean and Dad dump salt and gasoline over the body, Dean keeping watch but the wind only gets up to a howl before Dad’s set the entire thing on fire. There’s a spark of flame in the distance, the half-formed ghost of Audra Duley disappearing with a despairing wail as her body burns.

 

The stink of burning corpse will sink into their clothes, a smell they’re all too familiar with. Dad will insist on laundry as soon as they’re far enough from this hunt, dumping extra soap in the wash to try to purge the smell from their clothes.

 

Sam takes his turn shoveling, even though he’s still lanky for 14, muscles not quite as developed as the other men’s. It makes the work go quicker, and a part of him likes the burn and ache digging graves leaves behind.

 

Dirt-covered and smoke-scented, the Winchesters pile into the car, tearing through the dark on the highway out of town. Dad’s at the wheel with Dean riding shotgun while Sam sprawls in the back. He tilts his head back enough to see the stars out the window, Dean’s folded-up jacket protecting him from the glass and cold metal of the door. It smells like corpse and big brother sweat, and Sam ignores the prickle in his gut that starts up. Better to lose himself in Motorhead and the roar of the Impala’s engine.

 

* * *

 

Waverly, Kentucky. Not much to boast about, not even a school, but there’s still plenty of room for the local kids to get into. Dean spends his time after work flirting with girls at the skating rink. He and Dad have picked up jobs in town, leaving Sam to his own devices and he makes friends with a quiet kid named Asher. They smoke stolen cigarettes and pilfered weed behind the trailer the Winchesters are living in between hunts. Dean shakes his head but doesn’t say much about the glazed look on Sam’s face that still lingers when he gets home.

 

“Take a shower, Sam. Dad’ll kick your ass if he smells that.”

 

Being stoned kills the boredom, even though it can make time stretch like taffy. It mellows out the itch under Sam’s skin, that bizarre need that’s been building slowly since as long as he can remember. He doesn’t know what Dean would do if Sam listened to the errant thoughts that skitter through his mind sometimes, if he’d make Dad take Sam to a shrink or dump him at Bobby’s; if Dean would ever even want to look at or touch Sam again.

 

It doesn’t matter though. Sam’s got a handle on it, knows how to keep up the act of good little brother and bull-headed son. And, some days, he doesn’t even have to try.

 

It still feels like lying.

 

* * *

 

Amy Cropper is a pretty girl. Popular, friendly, and just Dean’s type. Sam’s seen his brother with plenty of girls before, watched him flirt and tease and even been pretending to sleep while Dean’d made them moan in his bed. So he’s not sure why this one gets so deep under his skin, why his muscles go tight every time he sees her touching Dean’s arm or pressing herself up close to him.

 

It’s a risk he shouldn’t take, but his heart pounds in a way that is far more excitement than  fear. She’s trusting, too trusting to be letting puppy eyes and a dimpled smile lead her out this far, away from the relative safety of the homecoming game. Still, Sam knows how to use his charms every bit as much as his big brother does.

 

She cries when she realizes Dean isn’t there, that she’s too far away for anyone to hear her. Sam’s just strong enough to wrestle her to the ground and drag her into the abandoned barn just around the curve of Richardson Creek. He has to belt her legs together to keep her from kicking and stuffs a rag into her mouth to muffle her screams, but Sam gets her where he wants her in the end. He knows enough about pulleys and physics to make hanging her from the rafters easy.

 

A tiny part of him feels bad for her. She looks pathetic with teary eyes mascara trailed across her cheeks and forehead, white sweater filthy. Sam just watches her for a while, knowing full well why he brought her here, but having trouble actually doing it.

 

“Sam? Amy?” A cold chill runs through Sam. That’s Dean’s voice and he’s got Dean’s girlfriend dangling from the ceiling -

 

“Sammy?” Dean’s flashlight shines over them and Sam turns just enough to see the dark outline of his brother behind him. “Sam what the hell-”

 

“She touched you,” Sam says softly. “I’m tired of them touching you, Dean.”  It’s the only real explanation he can give. For Sam, it’s more than enough, but he doesn’t know that the same is true of Dean.

 

Dean’s expression is distressed for all of a minute. He closes his eyes, making a low, pained sound, then he’s backing Sam up against the rough wood of the barn.

 

“Tell me I didn’t do this,” he whispers, blocking Sam in with his body and gripping his chin tight. “Tell me I didn’t - I swear, Sam I can’t if I -”

 

“You didn’t. You’re a great big brother. The best. I just . . .” Sam shrugs, looking over Dean’s shoulder at the still-sobbing girl. “I’m a freak. And I’m tired of hiding it, especially from you. But I will, if you want me to.”

 

Sam startles a little when Dean pushes closer, burying his face against Sam’s hair. He can feel the warm puffs of Dean’s breath spreading over his scalp and it soothes a chill in him he didn’t even realize had been there.

 

“Fuck Sam. We - we can’t let her go.”

 

“Go home, Dean.” Sam slips out between his brother’s body and the wall, only stopped by the light grip of Dean’s hand around his wrist.

 

“ . . . Don’t get it on your clothes, Sam,” is all he says before heading toward the door.

 

Dean’s waiting for him at the edge of the tree line, tucked behind a large oak so no one can see him from the road. He eyes Sam critically, nodding when he doesn’t see any obvious signs of blood on his brother. The Impala’s waiting for them just at the edge of the football field parking lot, and it’s easy to get lost in the departing crowd.

 

Nobody says much when they get home. Dean rinses Sam’s knife in bleach, wiping it clean carefully. He burns the handkerchief Sam’d wrapped it in and the cloth he uses to clean it.

 

“Never without me, Sammy, you hear? Not after this. You tell me first and we’ll plan it out, do it right.”

 

“Okay, Dean,” Sam says agreeably. He’s not sure that Dean realizes that’s more than Sam ever could’ve asked him for.

 

That night, Sam dreams of red blood and pale skin and hears the sound of the knife sinking into flesh layered over his brother’s voice.

  
  
  



End file.
